Counting Up
by Tiana1
Summary: This fic, a series of standalones, starts in Season 2 and continues forward from there. Buffy’s birthday was always an interesting day. My take on how Spike marked the occasion each year.
1. Seventeen

Title: Counting Up  
  
Author: Tiana

Feedback: Makes me squeal like a schoolgirl ! Gimme. Please?  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Spike, Buffy or any other BTVS characters. Damn it.  
  
Distribution: Just ask at tianabelle   
  
Summary: This fic, a series of standalones, starts in Season 2 and continues forward from there. Buffy's birthday was always an interesting day. My take on how Spike marked the occasion each year.  
  
Rating: Varies from PG to NC-17. (NC-17 chapters will be marked as such.)  
  
Author's Note: Nearly every part in the series springs off an episode. For this reason, you will find lines from particular episodes inside the fic. I'm assuming everyone who reads this can tell which lines those are. As I often do when writing, I like to fill in blanks in the show, and occasionally tweak scenes to fulfill my wishes. :)  
  
The first chapter is for Season 2 and takes place during Ep. 13, Surprise. It is Spike/Dru, but the series as a whole is Spike/Buffy.

Chapter 1: Seventeen

"Stupid bloody Slayer. Put me in this blasted wheelchair. How the hell am I supposed to rip her throat out from here!?" Spike slaps his hand down on the armrest of the wheelchair as Drusilla drifts into the room.

"There, there, my sweet. You are healing quickly. Soon, you will be up and dancing and killing and we will splash in the blood like puddles after the rain." She trails around Spike, dragging ivory fingers across his shoulders and his neck. Spike relaxes a bit under her touch and even manages to smile softly at his dark love.

"You look lovely, Dru. I could eat you right up." The smile turns into a devilish grin accompanied by a dart of his tongue to wet his lips. Dru spins around, her dark maroon skirt moving with her.

"Later, my Spike." She snaps her teeth at him playfully, then runs her hands down the blood red combination, tracing her lean curves. "I got this when I picked up my party dress. Tasty shopgirl helped me before she screamed so nicely. So very sweet." Dru licks her lips, savoring the memory. "Let's go and look at the party decorations, dearie. I want to see the flowers." She claps her hands once with glee and takes Spike's wheelchair by the handles to start pushing him. Spike sighs, his shoulders slumping. He hears the voice of the simpering Dalton, sees him coming towards them, carrying another box. Another piece of the Judge for his Dru. He could never deny her anything.

They enter the main space, where party preparations continue. "Are you dead set on this, pet? Wouldn't you rather have your party in Vienna?"

"But the invitations are sent."

"Yeah. It's just I've had it with this place. Nothing ever comes off like it's supposed to.

"My gatherings are always perfect. Remember Spain?" Dru kneels next to him, drawing Spike into her eyes. "Hey... The bulls?"

Spike clenches his jaw in frustration. "I remember, sweet. But Sunnydale's cursed

for us. Angel and the Slayer see to that."

_A few hours later..._

Her eyes flash with disgust and anger. "You lost it? You... lost my present." Spike looks on, not surprised that the bookish vampire blew his mission. He figures somehow the bloody Slayer is involved.

Dalton quivers under Drusilla's fury. "I know. I'm sorry."

Voice bored, Spike joins the conversation. "It's a bad turn, man. She can't have her fun

without the box."

Dalton begins to panic. "The Slayer. She came out of nowhere. I didn't even see her. She..."

Spike sighs inwardly. As he thought. The Slayer. If he wasn't stuck in this chair, he could have gotten the box for his lady and kicked the Slayer's perky ass. Two birds, one stone. A small smile plays on his mouth at the thought, for her ass is quite perky. His mind plays back the scene from Halloween night. Had her bent back over that box, about to taste her, tight body quivering under his. It was a wet dream, and then she went and got her strength back. As he has done a thousand times since, he imagines it going differently. Her impossibly warm skin on his, rich blood in his mouth. Maybe he wouldn't have killed her right away. A little play...

His attention is distracted suddenly, as he sees Dru is about to kill their only minion with a multi-syllabic vocabulary.

"You might give him a chance to find your lost treasure. He is a wanker, but he's the only one we've got with half a brain. If he fails, you can eat his eyes out of the sockets for all I care."

Dalton begs for his unlife, "I'll get it. Please. I swear."

Drusilla freezes, considering. Finally, she decides, returning Dalton's broken glasses to his head and sending him on his way. She slinks over to Spike, and he pulls her onto his lap. His thoughts swirl between tanned skin and the pale white of his lover, blonde hair and darkest curls. Even when she is not here, the Slayer invades his thoughts. He growls, kissing Dru with a new fury.

_Later that same night..._

"I know you got it, mate. Wouldn't have come back without it, right?"

Dalton, disheveled and weary, nods. Behind him, another vampire carries in the box with the Judge's arm. Spike addresses that vampire. "Take it to the main room, add it to the others." He turns his attention back to the quivering Dalton. "Not going to kill you now, if that's what you're all twitchy about. You got the box. And you've got the head coming in the next hour, right?" Spike's gaze is intense, making Dalton quail.

"Ye..yes. It's on a truck. Here in half an hour, I swear."

"Good. Any trouble, then? Must've had to fight the Slayer off for the box, right?" Spike tries to hide any interest in hearing about the thorn in his side. It's good Dalton got the box, but he sure as hell doesn't want the Slayer killed unless he can at least watch.

Dalton breathes out a sigh of relief. "She and Angel. Both were there. We followed them back to the place we lost the box the first time." He accelerates, not wanting to dwell on that failure. "And found them in the club there. Looked like a party. For her."

"For...who? The Slayer?" Spike feigns boredom.

"Yes. Her birthday. Cake and presents and so forth. So, we follow - "Dalton hesitates as Spike begins to chuckle.

"Her birthday? Oh, this is choice. Guess we kind of ruined it for her, wouldn't you say? Spoiled the party?" He grins at Dalton.

"I...I would say so. Nothing was touched. They were all just looking at the box." Dalton swallows, his mouth dry under the watchful eye of Spike. Even in a wheelchair, he is deadly and Dalton knows it. "So, the Slayer and Angel and one of the women, they went to the docks. It looked like Angel was taking the box with him."

"Oh, the bloody poof fancies himself the noble hero, does he? And leaving his lady love on her birthday? How soddin' tragic." Spike can barely contain his glee.

"Right. Um. We jumped them and fought...and Victor threw the Slayer into the water. And uh, Angel went after her, so we took off."

"In the water, eh? Can she swim?" Spike can't stop himself from asking. Drowning is in no way good enough for killing this one. It would be a waste.

Dalton blinks, not expecting the question. "I..I don't know. We left."

"Yes. Well, good job. Saved your scrawny neck for now. Now, get out there, make sure the parts are going together right. Can't have anything going wrong tonight. Or it's your head, got it?"

"Yes, sir." Dalton hesitates.

"Go, then." Dalton scurries from the room, leaving Spike with his thoughts. Dark thoughts of nubile young Slayers he should never have. He hopes she can swim.

_That night at the party..._

Spike looks at Drusilla. She is glowing, nearly quivering with glee as her fully assembled gift steps over and incinerates Dalton. He wasn't quite sure this whole thing was going to come off, but there he was. Big blue demon thing. After threatening him and Dru, he was ready to declare it a very bad idea, but it seems things are back on track. Whatever track Dru's mind is on, that is.

The party continues, the Judge taking a few more party favors to Dru's delight. And then, things got really interesting. Rolling along next to the blue creature, Spike hesitates when he does.

Spike stops, looks back at him. "What? What is it?" And then, his eyes follow the Judge's. He grins, a smile most delicious. Looks like Blondie can doggy paddle.

Moments later, Buffy and Angel are dragged in front of Dru, Spike and the Judge.

"Just because your little birthday party got ruined didn't mean you had to crash ours, love. I feel just terrible for not getting you something for your birthday - flowers, chocolates, an early death." Spike smirks at Buffy as she struggles in vain. "Oh wait, I've got that last thing right here." He gestures at the Judge and wheels back out of the way. "You too, Peaches. Though your death is way overdue."

"Shut up, Spike!"

"Ooh, pet. You slay me with your wit." He turns to the Judge. "Kill her."

Angel, the big hero, thrusts himself forward, "Take me!"

Buffy cries out, arms straining to break free. "No!"

"Take me instead of her!"

Spike raises his hand, grinning. "Uh, you're not clear on the concept, pal. There is no instead. Just first and second."

"And if you go first, you don't get to watch the Slayer die." Drusilla smiles, her special brand of logic almost chilling. Spike smiles, the smell of the Slayer's fear...and maybe her shampoo...intoxicating. And her defiance. Anger. It's ripe and tantalizing. Dru drapes herself over him as he lets himself think he will finally be rid of both the Slayer and the poof in one fiery night.

And that, of course, is when everything went to hell. And not in the good way Spike intended.


	2. Eighteen

Summary: This part takes place in Season 3, end of Ep. 12, Helpless.

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Chapter 2: Eighteen

Dru dances in circles, dragging the lifeless form of a young man with her. "Shall we take this one to Carnavale with us?" She wrinkles her nose and looks at him at his head lolls back. "Oh, he does not wish to go. Fine, I will find another dance partner." Drusilla drops him without ceremony and looks about for her companion. She comes to the door and peers in at him in the next room. "What are you looking for, my sweet?"

Spike continues rummaging through the desk in the young man's study. He glances over his shoulder sharply. "Uh, nothing, Dru. Just seeing if there is anything interesting. Souvenirs, right?"

Dru shrugs and returns to the living room to twirl wildly in front of the fireplace, embers still aglow. "Oh, the blood burns in me, Spike. Will you teach me to samba, my darling? I want to move the way they move in the streets!"

Spike finally pockets what he was looking for and hurries to Dru's side, sweeping her into his arms. He averts his eyes so she does not see them. Does not see the young blonde who teases him still from halfway around the world. His desire to kill her tastes like bile in his mouth. If only he could just forget her. If only he could understand why she appears in his dreams. Every night, he wonders if he says her name in his sleep, and if Dru will finally see his dirty secret with her second sight. When he found Dru still in Brazil after his drunken visit to Sunnydale, he swore the Slayer was nothing to him. But, still he has to avoid her gaze. The effort of trying to forget haunts him. If only she was dead.

"Oooh, Spike. This is not the samba!" He pulls her tight to him, burying his mouth in her neck, her hair. She squeals with delight.

"Don't know the bloody samba, Dru. We can still dance, though. Doesn't look like anyone in the house is going to mind." He glances around at the lifeless bodies strewn around the living room of the lushly appointed home. "We can dance all night, pet."

_The next morning..._

Spike checks the drapes and glances back at his sleeping lover, sprawled naked in the soft pillows and sheets of the large bed. On cat feet, he makes his way to his duster, digging inside for his prize from the night before. Palming the roll, he pulls the wrinkled envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and smoothes it out on the dressing table of the former mistress of the house. He curses at himself even as he opens his hand and starts peeling stamps off the roll. "Stupid wanker. At least it's threatening. That's something, right?" He fails to convince himself, as he knows exactly why he is applying stamp after stamp to the envelope. Because he can't get her out of his system. As many towns as he tramps through with Dru. As many bodies as they leave in their wake. He is still drawn back towards the deadly, sunny girl. For what, he doesn't know. To kill her...to do other things. It is just something that turns his stomach, makes him want to head north when he knows he should continue in the opposite direction. He should mend things with Dru, make it work like it has for so many years. If only she'll keep her hands off fungus demons.

He finishes covering the envelope with stamps and frowns at it. It felt strange to write her name on the envelope. A name he never calls her. He hopes this is enough postage to get it to California in time. A whimper from the bed behind him makes Spike jump guiltily. His dark princess, lying there and he is thinking of the good one. The pure and driven Slayer. He entertains the idea of burning the envelope, but instead stuffs it back in the inner pocket of his duster before returning to her side.

_Later that night..._

"Ohhh, the people. Spike, do you hear their hearts beating? The blood rushing so furiously? It is delicious!" Pushing through the crowded streets, Dru drags Spike along behind her. His eyes scan the crowd, looking for one. A block later, Drusilla laughing madly as she crashes through the dancing crowds, he spots it. A small yellow box on the next corner. A mailbox. He smiles a little and tugs on Dru, bringing her back to him. He kisses her roughly, moving his hips against hers in the same rhythm cascading over them from the floats in the parade. He subtly moves her closer to the yellow box, nibbling on her ear and spinning her until she shrieks. He presses her against the pedestal the box is resting on, and her pale cheeks flush with the blood of her most recent victim. Spike presses his lips to hers, hard, and slips the envelope from his duster and into the box before she knows he is moving.

Drusilla growls at him and pulls him back into the crowd. He knows the look in her eyes. She is on the hunt and he is caught in the wake of her insatiable appetite. Spike glances one time over his shoulder at the yellow box holding his shame and then disappears into the Rio night.

_Meanwhile..._

As Xander struggles with the peanut butter jar in his hand, Buffy smiles around the kitchen. Surrounded by her friends and her Mom, she's happy to have just survived this birthday. Xander passes the jar to Willow to open and she joins the laughter. Her strength will return, as will her trust in Giles. A matter of time for both. Buffy hears a thump out in the hallway. "Mail's here, Mom. I'll get it."

She walks gingerly to the hallway, her whole body sore from the fight with Kralik. The normal pile of bills lies under the mail slot in the front hall, but one envelope catches her eye. Buffy frowns at the wrinkled, dirty envelope, covered with foreign stamps and postmarks. She pulls it out from the pile and stands up. The handwriting on the front is unfamiliar. Formal and old-fashioned. Miss Buffy Summers. Weird. Only her grandmother addresses her letters like that. "Huh. No return address, either," she mutters to herself. She peers closer at the stamps. "Brasil? Huh. Guess that's Brazil. Who the hell do I know in Brazi -"Buffy's heart thumps hard and gets stuck in her throat. "No. No way. Why would he...?"

She rips into the envelope impatiently and pulls out a piece of thick ivory paper. The same formal handwriting covers one side of the sheet.

_Slayer, _

_Never did say a proper goodbye after our last visit. How's the 'friend' thing working with Angelus? I thought so._

_I didn't get to kill you on your last birthday and I'm disappointed I won't get to do it this year either. Oh well, there's always next year. Until then..._

_Violence is Red_

_Corpses are Blue_

_Next time I see you_

_I'll bloody well kill you._

_At least it rhymes and really, it's the thought that counts, isn't it?_

_Spike _

Stuffing the page back in the envelope. Buffy shakes her head. "Only Spike would send me a birthday letter with a death threat. Or is that a death threat with a birthday letter?" Still a little confused by the whole idea and the effort he obviously expended, Buffy sticks the letter in her back pocket and collects the other mail.

Walking back into the kitchen, Buffy hands the mail to her Mom. "Anything interesting, Buffy?"

"Nah. Same old. Bills. People who want stuff."


	3. Nineteen

Summary: This next part takes place in Season 4, between Doomed and A New Man. Spike's early birthday wishes...

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Chapter 3: Nineteen

"What's this? Sitting around watching the telly while there's evil still afoot? That's not very industrious of you. I say we go out there and kick a little demon ass! What, can't go without your Buffy, is that it? Too chicken? Let's find her! She is the Chosen One after all. Come on! Vampires! Grrr! Nasty! Let's annihilate them. For justice - and for - the safety of puppies - and Christmas, right? Let's _fight_ that evil! - Let's _kill_ something!" Spike looks at Willow and Xander, who are just staring at him. "Oh, come on!"

Spike stands still waiting, looking from Xander to Willow. Finally, Xander speaks. "Um, no?"

Spike continues pacing with a groan. "Why not? God, I'm going bleedin' crazy in here!"

Willow straightens up, trying to look firm and resolved. "Because we have important things to do that do not involve bloodshed." She glances at Xander. "I hope."

Spike flops into the chair opposite the couch, a pout forming. "Like what?"

Willow's voice is higher than normal, because truth be told, Spike still does scare her a little bit. "Planning Buffy's surprise party, for one! That requires discussions and logistics and the buying of party hats and streamers."

Spike rolls his eyes. "Party for what? She slay her one millionth vampire or something?" He starts to pat himself over for cigarettes until Xander waggles his finger at him.

"No smoking, bleached wonder."

Spike fidgets a little and scowls at Xander. "Like this dank hole could smell worse."

"It's her birthday, is why. Well, not yet, but tomorrow. Is her birthday." Willow fidgets more than Spike.

"Oh, right. I almost forgot, I mean, so?" Spike snarls a little extra to make sure the two humans didn't pick up his slip. He always wonders if she ever mentioned the letter he sent her last year. He's not sure he could resist at least trying to override the chip to strangle Xander's neck if he teased him about it. Not that the forbidden desire has lessened. He officially hates her. Loathes her and her perky little self. Wants her dead. But sometimes, in moments of weakness, he wants her in other ways than dead.

"So, we like to throw her parties for her big day."

"Right, 'cause her birthdays have always gone so smoothly in the past?" Spike prods at the little red-haired witch. Nobody flushes more readily than Willow.

"This will be different. No disembodied arms, no psychotic vampires kidnapping her mother." Willow pauses and gives Spike a look. "Right?"

Spike puts his hands up. "Wouldn't touch her and besides, I'm not psychotic. A little bent, maybe..." The lascivious smirk ups the blush quotient to crimson and Willow smacks at Xander.

"We can finish planning tomorrow. Isn't it time to tie him up?"

"Ooh, Willow. Didn't know you liked it that way. Why don't _you _tie me up?" Spike licks his bottom lip and waggles his eyebrows at Willow, who threatens to burst into flames.

"OH! Oh! Not what I meant. You! I !" Willow gets up, grabs her sweater and waggles her finger almost menacingly at Spike. He playfully snaps at it and she darts from the room.

Xander calls after her. "See ya, Will!" He turns to Spike. "And she's right. Time to tie you up. You've been quite a big enough pain in the ass for one night."

"Now you want to tie me up, too? Down, boy. I didn't actually mean it when I said you were a nummy treat."

"Why do I even talk to you? I hate you." Xander grabs the ropes and starts lashing them around Spike, who is conveniently sitting in the chair he sleeps in. "By the way, this is it. End of the freeloading road. Tomorrow, you're outta here."

Spike cranes his head around to try and look at Xander. "What's that?"

"Giles and Buffy decided you're not dangerous anymore and that you don't know anything useful, so might as well find your own way. We're all kind of hoping you find your own way out of town, truthfully."

"You wound me, boy. And I am _so_ dangerous!"

"Yeah, yeah." Xander finishes tying the knots.

"Well, if I'm not dangerous, why tie me up tonight?"

"You're not roaming around my apartment while I'm sleeping, buddy."

"Oh, please. Why not?"

"We've been over this, haven't we?"

Spike rolls his eyes. "Yes, you're full of yourself and I'd rather bite anyone else on the planet. Does that about cover it?"

"Shut up."

"Thought so."

_An hour later..._

Spike listens carefully, waiting for Xander's breathing to sink into a steady rhythm. Finally, he is sound asleep. He starts to wiggle, slowly loosening the knots on the ropes until they are limp enough around him that he can push them off with his already free hands. He slips out of the chair, into his duster and up the basement stairs without a single creak. Stepping into the night air, he takes a deep breath, taking in the smells of the dark. He starts to walk, chuckling at the Whelp for thinking knots he ties could hold him. Maybe if the Slayer was doing the tying... A twitch in his pants makes Spike screech that train of thought to a halt. Ever since the little witch's spell, his nighttime thoughts of the Slayer have gotten worse. He's always had trouble separating bloodlust from plain old lust, but when it comes to the Slayer, it is the worst.

His mind wanders back to the night of the spell. He remembers how her body felt on his when she was in his lap. Taut body, but soft in all the right places. Her hands dancing over him, touching and groping and ... "Damn it. Stop thinking about the stupid bint. Hate her. Sure, she's a looker. Packs a big wallop in that tiny, cute package. Doesn't mean you have to bloody lust after her every time you see her." Spike realizes he is talking aloud to himself and jams his hands in his pockets, walking faster with a frown on his face. He hates her. Hates that he kissed her and that she kissed him back. With all the wriggling.

A few minutes later, he looks up. Realizes, the compass in his brain - or really, in his pants - has brought him to her window. Yeah, he hates her, all right. Mostly he hates that he doesn't hate her quite enough. Not enough to squelch the lingering taste of her in his mouth or the delicate scent of jasmine of her skin. Fueled by blind frustration, he slips into the dorm and up towards her room. He doesn't know what he's going to do when he gets there. If only the chip would malfunction, just once. He could end her and end this bizarre lust/hate battle in his mind. Kiss her, kill her. He just can't pick.

He reaches her door and leans in to listen. Nothing but soft breathing. Can't tell if the witch is there or not. Luckily, she invited him that night not so long ago, so he can slip in without a fuss. He opens the door silently, slowly and peeks in. Sound asleep. Rather than just leave before he really steps in it, Spike moves all the way in to her room and closes the door behind him. Leaning against it, he stares at her. She doesn't move. He shakes his head, amazed that the Slayer sleeps like the dead. Not too safe in her line of work to be that clueless during the night. A quick glance to the left tells him the witch is not home. He raises an eyebrow at that. Guess Red has some secrets after all. And here he had her pegged as a listen to your mother and be home by 10 kinda girl.

Seemingly of their own volition, Spike's feet move him away from the door and closer to Buffy's bed. If his heart was beating, it would be somewhere in his throat by now. After every step, he waits and listens, but her breathing never alters. Slow and steady. Finally, he is close enough to really see her, with blue moonlight washing in over her face, casting part of it in shadow. His eyes drift down her body, taking in the skimpy tank top he can see and resists the urge to whip the sheet back and see just how skimpy the rest of the outfit is. He realizes he has never been able to just watch the Slayer like this. Quiet and vulnerable - at least, in appearance. And peaceful.

His eyes drift back upwards and then fixate on her neck. Her head is turned slightly to the side, baring a slender column of flesh to his hungry eyes. Time seems to slow as he watches the artery pumping her rich, hot blood. After a few moments, he feels he can hear and nearly taste the blood. And he also really wants to taste it. Taste her. Spike realizes he has drawn even closer to the Slayer. Only a few feet away now. Close enough to touch her. He shakes his head vigorously, trying to rattle loose those still too fresh memories of the last time he got to touch her. He fails. He remembers the way she smelled like the hot midday sun, a scent he thought he had long since forgotten.

His hand lifts slowly, edging closer to her. Still, the rhythm of her breathing does not change. Spike hesitates, hand in mid-air, as his brain screams at him at the top of its lungs to move away. To leave immediately. And no matter what, don't touch her. That touching her will only make it worse. Only confuse him more and makes this truly unnatural feeling grow stronger. Never one to demur to logic, Spike protests, argues with himself. Her neck, her skin. It tastes so goddamn good.

He pulls his hand back, but only because he has found a more alluring target. Her mouth. Her lips, tinted blue in the moonlight, barely parted, gentle breaths escaping. Spike licks his own lips and wonders for a second if she might sleep with a stake under her pillow, as he is certainly risking a dusty end. He wouldn't put it past her to sleep armed. He checks her hands, one lies limp on her pillow next to her head, the other lightly resting on her stomach. Seems harmless, but he knows this deadly girl. Just when you count her out, she attacks. Brutal, dangerous. It's one of the things he likes about her.

Spike straightens up, regaining some of his senses and beginning to wonder what in the unholy fuck he is doing in the Slayer's bedroom. He can't even fight back if she wakes up. It's the dumbest thing he's ever thought of doing and he's thought of some truly dumb things in the last hundred years.

That thought still firmly planted in the forefront of his mind, Spike dives forward quickly and brushes his cool lips across hers. He stands up, eyes wide, shocked. Just when logic was getting a foothold, he decides to let his other head do the thinking. A soft sigh is the only response and then...a smile? Spike could swear her mouth twitches upward. He cocks his head, studying her face. Again, his self-preservation instinct tells him to run. Fast. But his feet stay planted. He wants more.

One more kiss. It's not like he'll ever get another chance, so he might as well get this stupid fantasy out of his system. Done convincing himself, Spike leans forward again and presses his lips to hers, just a little harder, a little longer. Letting the taste of her linger on his mouth.

"Mmmm..." Spike jumps backwards as the Slayer makes a small sound. Of pleasure? Five steps to the door already, Spike freezes as the Slayer shifts in her sheet, still murmuring. He cuts his eyes to the clock and sees it is just after midnight. With one more look at her delicate neck, he breaks for the door, hesitating with his hand on the knob.

He cuts his eyes back to her again, her features soft in the dim light. "Happy Birthday, Slayer." His voice is a whisper and then he is gone.

As the door closes, Buffy continues to mutter in her sleep. "Mmm..." She flops on one side, her hand moving across her stomach. "...Spiiike..."

The next second, Buffy sits straight up, heart pounding, fingers to her mouth. "Spike?"

She looks around, but her room is empty. Not even Willow. So, why does she have the distinct feeling Spike was just here...and kissing her? "No. That's not possible. Must have been a dream. I mean, a nightmare. God."

Buffy scrambles out of bed to go to the bathroom and splash water on her face. She freezes halfway across the room.

The door is slightly ajar.

Buffy swears under her breath, ignoring the hot flush that races up her cheeks. He wouldn't have. Would he? She grabs at a pair of warm-up pants and a jacket and breaks for the door, slamming it behind her. Only one way to find out.

She runs most of the way to Xander's, muttering to herself. Trying to figure out why she woke up feeling so...hot. "It was just stuffy in the room. Should have opened a window." Every few minutes, her fingers dance across her lips. She sighs a little.

Finally, Buffy reaches Xander's house. Realizing she does not want to explain this to Xander, she decides for a more covert approach. She crawls around to one of the half-windows that look down into the basement. Her eyes dart around until she sees the telltale blond head. He's tied up in his chair, head nodded forward in sleep. She sits back on her heels. "Huh. But I could have sworn..." She checks again, but he is most definitely still there and Xander is fast asleep in his bed as well.

Head spinning with some truly weird thoughts, Buffy gets up and starts a slow stroll back to her dorm.

A few minutes later, Spike opens his eyes and risks a look to the window. He heaves a sigh of relief and this time, falls into a real sleep full of dreams fueled by soft soft lips and a quiet moan. Even though it is the Slayer's birthday, he feels like the one with a gift.


	4. Twenty

Summary: This part takes place during Season 5, ep.13, Blood Ties. Spike thinks better of crashing Buffy's party, but still manages to give her a gift...

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Chapter 4: Twenty

The chocolates seemed like a good idea when he left his crypt. Sure, they were a little battered, but aren't those humans always going on about how it's the thought that counts? Spike sighs, drawing hard on his cigarette, tasting ash. He went near the front door when he arrived, but one glance inside sent him around the back. It's not like he was invited to her little birthday soiree and they all looked so happy, like some Norman Rockwell painting.

Spike kicks at a loose rock, sending it skittering across the yard. Stupid to be here, stupid to try and apologize to her or explain. He really was just trying to help when he showed Buffy what the soldier boy was doing. Truth be told, his motives were not pure as the driven snow, but he didn't like to see a strong girl like the Slayer being played. Not by that Iowa farm boy. His darkness was a costume, an attempt to show he had a little monster in him.

Spike's monster was 100 real. In his mind, the Slayer needed someone like him. Someone dark, someone of the night. Not someone like the boy. Good that he's gone. Spike looks down at the box of bon bons. They are looking a bit worse for wear. He should just leave -

His scattered thoughts are interrupted by a soft thud. The Bit. Climbing out her window? Spike wonders what broke up the happy Hallmark moment he saw inside not long ago. What's she doing out here?

Dawn jumps when she sees him standing in the darkness. "Geez! Lurk much?"

Spike, unfazed, answers with his cigarette bobbing between his lips. "Wasn't lurking. I was standing about. It's a whole different vibe."

And then she noticed the chocolates. Spike began to regret coming here. Even considering a normal conversation with the Slayer. It was impossible. Only, now he was stuck with the younger Summers. Letting her get eaten on her nighttime hijinks would not earn him any points with the Slayer, that's for damn sure.

A few minutes later, they are strolling downtown toward the Magic Box. "So, Bit, why'd you leave the shindig? Those wankers get on your nerves, too?" He casts a sidelong look at the gangly teen. She might be annoying, but somehow, he doesn't mind her company. She's never treated him like the others. Might even have a little schoolgirl crush on the Big Bad.

Dawn sighs, but smiles back at Spike. "They treat me like a freak. A kid. Every time I walk in the room, they all just stop and stare. I hate it."

"Know what you mean, Nibblet. Treat me that way, too."

She grins over at him, admiring for the thousandth time his male model cheekbones. "So, um, were you really going to give Buffy those chocolates?"

Spike snorts. "Nah. Just...they were for your mum."

"Riiiiiight. Can I have one?"

Spike shrugs, holds the box out to her. She pokes around, looking for coconut and trying to avoid the dreaded orange creme-filled. "Come on, then! Don't have all bleedin' night."

"Aha! Got it." Dawn pops the dark chocolate treat in her mouth and chews happily. Spike rolls his eyes, wondering how he came to be babysitting the newest juvenile delinquent of Sunnydale.

After breaking into the Magic Box without any actual breaking, Spike wanders in, looking around for a suitable replacement for Buffy's now half-eaten birthday present. Just has to make sure Dawn doesn't notice. No more ribbing from the half-pint. As Dawn goes on about some book she needs, Spike sees it. Sitting on the counter, gleaming on a black velvet cloth. A large and pure crystal quartz. His mind fades back to his time with Drusilla and those years she played with crystals, claiming they opened the doors of the stars to her eyes. And this one. She had one like this, only smaller. Said it was for healing.

His hand hesitates over the stone. The Slayer could use healing. As unused to the feeling as he is, Spike knows his actions caused some of the pain. He feels guilt. Maybe this will help. Grasping the smooth, cool stone in his hand, he decides it couldn't hurt. In the next motion, he feels it hit the bottom of his duster's pocket with a soft thud. He smiles. Better than chocolates.

_An hour later..._

Spike stands on the back porch, face furrowed in a frown. Bit didn't say much on the way back. She seemed really spooked by this Key thing. He feels like he should go in with her, get her to Buffy. But he knows what would happen. First, the nasty remarks, then the accusations, the blame and the kicking out. He sighs, scuffing at the wood of the back porch. Guess he's earned it, but she never cuts him a break. Ex-vengeance bird gets to have birthday cake with the rest of 'em, but chipped vampires? Not welcome.

He turns away, deciding he needs a drink. Spike glances back at the quiet house, hopes the Nibblet is okay.

It is only when he gets home and takes his duster off that he feels the solid weight in the pocket again. He still has the crystal. He sighs before uncapping his flask. Looks like another Buffy birthday on the outside looking in.

_Twenty four hours later..._

"Sure you're okay? You're walking a little crooked." Buffy tries to hide the humor in her voice, but is unsuccessful. For just a second, she thinks about putting her hand under Spike's elbow to steady him, but thinks better of it. Better to have a no-touching policy with the evil undead, chipped or not. Only he did try to help tonight, so maybe one touch. Buffy slides one hand around the cool leather and clasps his arm.

Spike, in the middle of a retort about how he was walking just fine, thank you, bites his tongue. The Slayer is touching him. On purpose. And not in a punch or kick kind of way.

Buffy can feel the strength in his arm all the way through the leather. Guess she knew Spike had muscles, but she didn't just go around feeling 'em like this, so yeah.

Her words are soft enough that he can just barely hear her. "Thanks, Spike."

"For?" He cocks an eyebrow, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head.

"You know, for trying to fight Glory. Don't, uh, feel bad. She's wicked strong."

"Yeah, I noticed." Spike gives her a wry grin. "You okay?" He tries to hide the worry in his voice, make it sound oh so casual, but he can smell the blood on her. Getting pierced by an iron rod takes even the Slayer some time to get over.

She flinches, testing her shoulder. "I'll heal." Her mind all of a sudden realizes she and Spike are, for the second time in four hours, having an actual conversation and he is actually being nice. She glances up. Must be a full moon or something.

They arrive in front of his crypt and all of a sudden, walking Spike home after his traumatic head injury seems less like a nice thing to do and more like an awkward first date. Spike shuffles his feet a little, avoiding looking at her. He seems to want to say something. One hand reaches in his pocket and Buffy studies him, arms crossed on her chest.

"So."

"So. Guess I better get inside, rest up. Prepare for my next blow to the head, eh? That Glory bint seemed like trouble." He sees the worry well up in Buffy's eyes and regrets mentioning the G word. He swallows hard, mustering up the nerve he needs for the next thing. Make it casual, he tells himself. Not a big deal. Casual.

"Here." Internally, Spike wants to slap himself. Very smooth.

"What's this?" Buffy turns over the crystal Spike just plopped in her hand. "A crystal?"

"Yeah, just something I...found. Doesn't really go with my decor, y'know. Thought you might want it. For something."

Buffy's forehead wrinkles in confusion. Is Spike giving her a gift? "Bit mentioned your birthday the other night, so uh, there you go."

Buffy's eyebrows shoot up. "This is a birthday gift?" Spike regrets it. Big time. She is acting wigged out. He reaches for the crystal but she pulls it out of reach, closing her hand over it. "Hey!"

"What? I thought you didn't like it."

"I didn't say that. I just don't know why you are giving me something."

Spike decides it is time to beat a hasty retreat before he spills the beans and gets hit in the head for the second time tonight by a freakishly strong little blonde. He backs toward the door, swinging the latch down and stepping back into his space. "Don't make a fuss, Slayer. Take it or leave it, eh? 'Night." He stumbles back into his crypt quickly, slamming the door behind him. He waits, back to the door until he hears the Slayer's steps crunch away on the frozen grass. Spike lets out the breath he was holding and whispers to the darkness. "Happy birthday, love."

_The next day..._

Buffy props her feet up on the chair next to her, flipping through a book absently. Her mind wonders to the crystal in her bag, remembering how it sparkled in the morning light. It was really quite beautiful and she still couldn't believe that Spike, of all creatures, gave it to her.

"So, Giles?"

"Yes, Buffy?" Distracted by the register receipts, Giles doesn't look up.

"Remember when you used to make me study crystals? Y'know, around that time you drugged me?"

Giles looks up sharply, but is relieved to see playfulness in his Slayer's eyes. She has forgiven him for that. "Buffy, crystals are most powerful. Just because they are trendy now does not make them less valid for study... "

"Right, right. But so, I was wondering. They all had purposes, meanings, right?"

Giles sighs, and turns his full attention to Buffy. He knows when she is one-tracking. "Yes, Buffy. The purer the crystal, the greater its strength. The strengths, the meanings vary from crystal to crystal. Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious."

When she doesn't say anything else, Giles turns back to his accounts. Just when he is fully engrossed again, her voice pipes up. "What does a clear one mean?"

"A clear what, Buffy?"

"Duh. Crystal, Giles. Weren't you listening?" Giles sighs once again and tries to be patient. Even though she just turned twenty, Buffy can still remind him of the fresh-faced girl he met four years ago.

"A crystal quartz?"

"Yes."

Giles removes his glasses, rubs the bridge of his nose as he thinks. "The crystal quartz, it is said, can bring the energy of the stars into the soul. A bit poetic for my taste, but it is a powerful tool with one main purpose, Buffy."

She looks up, thinking of the bashful look on Spike's face when he slipped it to her. She is starting to think he knew more about this crystal than he let on.

"And that is?"

"Healing. Of the body, the mind and the heart. It is meant to mend the soul."

Buffy just sits quietly at that, and Giles returns to his work.

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the lovely reviews so far! I really appreciate them. I realized after reading a few reviews that I forgot to mention how long the series is. It is seven parts, running from Buffy Season 2 through a fictional Buffy Season 8 (tying in with Angel Season 5). Enjoy! -Ti :)


	5. Twenty One

Summary: This part takes place in Season 6, Ep. 13, Older and Far Away. Spike crashes Buffy's birthday party this year and he brings another surprising gift...

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Chapter 5: Twenty One

Buffy paces in her room, wondering how long she can be away from the party before people come looking for her. People like Spike. She paces faster. Half of her wants to run back into the safe haven of her friends and the other half wants to wait somewhere dark for Spike to find her and....do things. After the beating she gave him, she never expected him to show up at her house. For her birthday party, of all things. Buffy shakes her head, wondering once again why she lets her friends try to celebrate her birthday every year. "Does it ever go smoothly? Nooooo. Never. Always someone trying to kill me or my boyfriend or my mother or my sister..." Buffy kicks the dresser in frustration and slams out of her room.

She takes deep breaths as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, trying to find some semblance of calm. Right as hits the front hall and swings around the banister, she just about runs smack into Spike. Who just happens to be lounging against the stairs, avoiding the merriment. Waiting for her.

"Spike! What are you...doing here?" She tries to walk past him, but he shifts just slightly to block her. The look in his blue eyes is both lusty and gentle and she feels her face burn. The heat heads somewhere down south as well, but she tries desperately to ignore it.

"Waiting for you. You okay, Slayer?"

Buffy feels inexplicable anger at him. Mad at him for being kind to her after she beat the living hell out of him. Mad that she still wants to drag him up to her room and have her way with his undead naked self. And most of all, mad that she can't find it in her to really drive him away. Instead, she only pulls him closer.

"I'm fine." She smiles, a smile so fake Spike immediately frowns. She winces as she gets an up close look at the damage she did to his face. "Are you...?" Buffy starts to lift her hand to touch his face where it is bruised and swollen, but fights the urge.

"I'll heal, pet. Just a few bumps and bruises." He turns his face, trying to hide his black eye from her. The pain and the guilt on her face is too much for him. "So, anyway. Got you a present, it being your birthday and all." Spike pulls a black box out of his duster pocket, tied with a red bow. Buffy looks startled, glancing from the box to his face, but she can't figure out what he is thinking. "I'll just put it in here with the other gifts, alright?" Spike slips by her, one hand grazing her ass before she can protest and she flinches as she watches him place the box on the pile of gaily wrapped packages from her friends. He smiles and heads over to the snacks to talk with Clem.

For the next two hours, Buffy keeps her eye on the black box, trying to work out how to slip it out of the living room.

"Ooh, who's this one from?" Dawn grabs up the box and shakes it, holding it by her ear. Buffy jumps as if her sister is shaking a small bomb.

Before she can figure out what to say, a deep voice answers from the couch. "From me, Bit. But it's for your sister, so don't mess it up, eh?"

Dawn rolls her eyes and puts the box back down on the pile. Buffy feels her jaw tighten, knowing she can't get out of opening it now.

"Time for presents!" Dawn squeals in excitement and thrusts the nearest box at Buffy, who is dragged down onto the couch by her little sister. She glances around the room, slightly panicked, and sees Spike lounging against the doorway, looking entirely too casual....and hot. Her cheeks flush at the dirty thoughts that leap unbidden to her mind. When he smirks at her, jabbing his thumb into the waistband of his jeans, Buffy wonders if he can read thoughts now.

Buffy looks down at the delicately wrapped little box in front of her. "Who is this one from?"

Tara raises her hand from her spot across the room. "Me, Buffy."

Buffy smiles warmly, "Thanks, Tara." She rips into the box and finds a string of lapis beads. "Ooh, it's beautiful. Thank you!" Buffy pops up and gives Tara a big hug.

Sitting back on the couch, Buffy starts to reach for the big box from Willow, but finds a black box shoved under her nose by Dawn. "This one! Open this one! I'm dying to know what Spike got you."

The room goes nearly silent, only Richard and Sophie looking around in confusion. Spike looks relaxed as Buffy slowly takes the box. "Okay, Dawnie."

Her heart pounding, Buffy pulls the red bow until it pops open and slides off the box. She can feel every eye in the room on her, most especially the two piercing blue ones across the room. Buffy edges the box closer to her so she is the only one that can see inside it. Lifting the lid, she spots something red. With a sigh of relief, she pulls out a delicate scarf of scarlet silk. Dawn gasps and reaches out to touch it. "So soft, Buffy. Very pretty."

Buffy fingers the slippery material between her fingertips before looking up at her lover. Her voice is gentler than it has been all night. "Thank you, Spike. It's lovely."

"Welcome, Slayer." He nods and then gives her a look and lifts an eyebrow. Somehow, she gets the idea and glances back into the box. Something black and lacy and most definitely not PG-13 peeks back at her. With a gasp, she slaps the lid back on and tucks the box next to her hurriedly before Dawn gets too curious.

Spike breaks into a full grin and Buffy tries - and fails - to get mad at him. She gives him a look that says she'll be taking a closer look a bit later on and maybe he can be there when she does. He winks at her and then rolls off the doorframe into the hall, heading for the kitchen. By the time he returns with a cold beer, she has already opened Willow's gift of a portable massager. The looks exchanged over that gift are enough to make Buffy wonder if the air conditioning has suddenly broken.

As the hours pass that night, Buffy finds herself more and more curious about the lacy things in her box, but is too busy fighting off a demon in her walls, worrying about her klepto sister and trying to escape her own house to actually check them out.

_The next night..._

Dawn is finally asleep after a day long discussion of just how much stealing has gone on and just how often she is skipping school and all sorts of other topics that make Buffy feel twice her new age. She slips down into the living room and pulls the small black box out from under the sofa, where she hid it from prying eyes. Checking the stairs one last time for prying little sisters, Buffy pulls the lid all the way off. As she suspected, the black lingerie is both skimpy and sexy and she finds herself really wanting to try it on. The bottom of the box slips off her lap and makes an extra loud thump when it hits the ground.

She frowns, looking down at it. That's strange. An empty box shouldn't make that sound. Putting the lingerie aside, she picks the bottom up again. Under a sheet of tissue paper, she finds a book. A slim volume, dark red leather covers slightly battered and well-worn, from both age and use. She runs her hand over the cover slowly, wondering. Trying to understand him, and as usual, failing.

She gently opens the cover to find an inscription on the flyleaf.

_Buffy_

_I mean everything he says and more. He just says it better._

_With love,_

_Spike_

Her hands are trembling as she notices a worn silk ribbon marking a particular page. First, she turns to the title page. _Collected Love Letters of John Keats_.

She smiles and turns to the marked page.

_Dearest Fanny,_

_You fear, sometimes, I do not love you so much as you wish?_

_My dear Girl, I love you ever and ever and without reserve.  
The more I have known you the more have I lov'd. In every way - even my jealousies have been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit I ever had I would have died for you.  
I have vex'd you too much. But for Love! Can I help it?  
You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest... _

Buffy's eyes blur as she continues to read and starts to maybe, just maybe, begin to understand him.


	6. Twenty Two

Summary: This part takes place during Season 7, ep. 12, Potential. Spike remembers Buffy's birthday when no one else does...

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Chapter 6: Twenty Two

"You think they're ready, Buffy?" Spike gestures back at the closed crypt door where the sounds of fighting have already begun.

Buffy sighs, glancing from Spike to the crypt. "I wish I knew. But they have to be, so trial by vampire. It's the way I learned."

"Right, any vampire will do, I suppose. Animal inside, always the same." Spike starts to walk away, hands jammed deep in his pockets. Buffy slaps herself on the forehead as she replays what she said earlier. Stupid stupid stupid.

"Spike! Wait up!" Buffy is torn between not leaving the crypt and not letting him walk away with his head down that way. She reaches him and grabs his arm, turning him to face her. His face is blank and Buffy frowns. "You know I didn't mean you, right? With the animal thing?"

"Why wouldn't you, Buffy? You've seen the animal in here often enough." Spike thumps his chest for emphasis and tries to start walking again. Buffy pulls on his arm a little harder.

"Stop it. Just stop. I...don't think of you that way, Spike."

Spike cocks his head to the side, studying the most confusing girl he's ever met. And loved.

"Which way would that be?"

"Like an animal. Like a...vampire." Buffy sighs, frustrated she can't explain herself. "I mean, yeah, you're a vampire, but you're different!"

"Right. That's a dangerous way to think of me, love. Be careful."

"Would you just shut up and listen?"

Spike, startled, actually falls silent. When she doesn't say anything for a few seconds, he finally makes eye contact. Her eyes are intense and focused on his, her voice quiet and strong.

"I didn't mean you."

He answers with a short nod and after studying her face a little longer, turns back to the crypt. He settles down on the front stoop to wait for the fight to end. Satisfied that he actually listened, even if he did not believe her, Buffy joins him and they wait in a comfortable silence.

_A few hours later..._

Spike finds himself on another, more familiar stoop. Facing into the darkness of Buffy's backyard, he takes another drag off his cigarette. Periodically, he reaches into his pocket and fingers the piece of worn metal as he has thousands of times before. Finally, there is a quiet click behind him and he smells the gentle scent of jasmine.

"Buffy."

"I thought I'd find you here. Um, just so you know, I'm done talking with the girls, so the basement is free again."

"Thanks, pet." Spike continues to face toward the darkness, a cloud of smoke filling the air above him. Buffy hesitates, wondering if she should intrude or if he was...waiting for her? "Care to join?"

"With the smoking? Uh, no. But the sitting, yeah. I can really get into some sitting." Buffy steps down onto the first step off the porch and then settles down next to Spike. She ends up a few inches closer than she originally intended, but doesn't move away. Spike can feel her body heat through the crisp night air and the jasmine tickles his nose. He jabs out the cigarette in the saucer next to him. Silence comes down between them.

"So, they did it. They won tonight."

"They have a good teacher." Buffy flushes at the unexpected compliment.

"And a good sparring partner." Spike smiles slightly in acknowledgment.

Spike clears his throat and Buffy waits. Finally, he speaks again. "I was in pretty bad shape the other night, Buffy. I didn't get a chance to...thank you. For coming for me."

"Oh, it was no big -"

Spike interrupts her, his voice soft and strong. "Thank you." His eyes meet hers for one brief and intense second before he looks away again.

Buffy swallows. Hard. Hand shaking just a touch, she reaches out to put her hand on Spike's bare forearm. He tries not to jump, but he is startled by the warmth, the gentle softness of her hand on his skin. When she just leaves her hand still, he finally turns to her. Her hazel eyes are dark in the night, but he can see it. Some emotion for him. Unnamed, undefined, but there. "Of course."

She still believes in him.

Spike sticks his hand back in his pocket and fumbles with the slick piece of metal before slipping it out. He doesn't show it to Buffy yet. His voice is quiet, when he begins to speak, drawing strength from the way her hand continues to rest on his arm. The way he can hear her heart beating, slow and strong, next to him. "I didn't forget, pet. I just didn't get a chance to go shopping, being captive and tortured and all." Buffy wrinkles her brow, wondering what on Earth Spike is talking about. Spike squints up at the moon making its track across the sky. "Looks to be safely after midnight, so here."

He reaches towards her and Buffy holds out her other hand, palm up. A solid silver coin lands there, worn nearly blank on the side she can see. It's the biggest coin she's ever held, bigger than the Kennedy half dollar her grandfather gave her on her birthday once. Her fingers are drawn to it, and she runs them over the nearly smooth surface. She sees the edge of what could be a shield. She lifts her hand from Spike's arm to flip the coin over and study it. The markings are nearly gone on that side, too. Still confused, Buffy looks up at Spike.

"I know it's not a proper gift, love, but it's for your birthday. Happy Birthday, Buffy."

Buffy gasps, realizing the date. "It is my birthday today. I completely forgot. With all the stress...it just slipped my mind." Buffy rubs the coin between her fingers. "But you...remembered?"

"Always." Spike dodges her eyes and starts to explain, running his index finger over the coin in her hand. "It's a Crown, Buffy. A piece of coinage from England. My mum bought it the year I was born and gave it to me when I turned twelve. When I...became the man of the house. She said it was my lucky coin. To never lose it. To keep it close."

Buffy's mouth falls open. "I can't take this, Spike. You...it's too much." She tries to hand it back to him, but Spike stops her and curls her hand around it tightly.

"No." Spike looks down at her hand. So small and yet powerful. "It's for luck. And I want to give it to you. So take it, okay?"

Buffy senses she needs to not protest, but is still amazed. She realizes this coin has been with Spike for well over one hundred years. When he releases her, she studies the coin in her hand, running the tip of her finger around and around it. The action is soothing and it occurs to her that Spike has done this very thing thousands and thousands of times. And for a minute, she feels closer to him than she ever has. Her throat tightens suddenly thinking how much he must still love her to give up something so precious. She glances towards him and sees the tension in his shoulders as he returns to staring into the darkness. He's afraid. Afraid she won't take it.

Before she has time to really think about it, Buffy leans over and brushes her lips against his cheek. His skin is smooth and soft, just the way she remembers it. Standing up quickly, she heads for the backdoor. Pausing with her hand on the knob, she looks back at Spike. He doesn't face her, but she can see him relax.

"Thanks, Spike. For the luck." She swings the door open. "And for remembering."

And in the next heartbeat, Spike hears the door click shut behind him. "Always, love. Always."

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Author's Note: There is one more part to this series. It takes place in a fictional Season 8 and uses the events of Angel Season 5 as well. I will be posting it in parts as it will be much longer than any of the other years... :) Thanks so much for the reviews so far!! :) Tiana 


	7. Twenty Three, Part 1

Twenty Three, Part 1

Summary: Takes place five months after the end of Buffy Season 7 and in my timeline, Spike has just become 'solid' again. Spike's return is just like it was in Angel Season 5, except for Andrew never sees him and he doesn't have sex with Harmony ('cause that just bugged me).

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"Okay, blue streamers or pink ones? I know, you're a girl, so pink, but then you're not a newborn or something, so you can choose. You should be an empowered woman, free to have blue streamers at her twenty third birthday party. I mean, it is the new millennium and..."

"You _have_ to stop talking. I mean it." Buffy flips through a fashion magazine, yanking the pages a little harder than is absolutely necessary. "And pink. I like pink." Without looking, she knows Andrew's mouth is open again. "What did I just say?" It snaps shut and he heads back into the kitchen with the streamers in hand.

"Your sister is just this side of cranky, Dawn. I nearly lost my boyish good looks over streamers out there. What's her dealio?" Andrew shoves the blue streamers back in a plastic bag as he quickly checks over his shoulder to make sure Buffy didn't hear him. She scares him.

Dawn answers in a hushed voice. "Andrew, I'm thinking it's your need to ask her questions all the time. You know she hates that. And she's been Queen Mopey all week. The closer it gets to her birthday, the worse it gets. I know they've been...iffy before, but I thought she'd be happy this year." Dawn sighs, leaning around the corner to see her older sister looking far from happy and tossing the abused magazine onto the coffee table with a sigh of her own. "I mean, check it out. Living it up in Rome..."

"That's Ro-MA, Dawn. Ro-MAH." Andrew uses his index finger to show in the air how the end of the word lilts upwards. Dawn slaps a hand on her hip and frowns at him.

"Shut it. Really." He does, letting his hand fall limply to his side. "As I was saying, living in ROME, a heaping plate of no danger to make life more relaxing and look at her. She's about to crawl out of her skin."

Still muttering about Americans and their refusal to learn foreign tongues, Andrew looks up when Dawn stops talking. "Oh. Yes. All that you said and more."

Dawn rolls her eyes and shoves Andrew back into the living room. "Go hang the streamers and try not to piss her off, okay? Can you do that?"

Andrew stumbles away, muttering some more. "Not likely.... Hi Buffy!" He enters the room with a grin, holding up the roll of pink streamers.

Buffy stands up and stalks away without a word, entering her room and closing the door hard behind her.

Andrew whines to the empty room, "See?!"

_A few minutes later..._

Buffy exits her room, changed into jeans, a white button up shirt and a black leather jacket, worn around the edges. She doesn't pause to look at the "Happy Birthday, Buffy!" banner strung across the wall or the loops of pink streamers beginning to appear. Snatching her keys from the hook by the door, Buffy calls out, "Dawnie, I'm going to patrol. I'll be back for the party," and closes the door behind her as Dawn comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands.

"Buffy?" She turns to Andrew, who is frozen, standing on a chair, roll of scotch tape in his teeth, lengths of streamers in his hand. "Did she say patrolling?" Andrew nods as Dawn frowns at the closed door. "She hasn't done that in a week. What the frilly heck is up with her?"

Skipping the elevator and hopping down the steps two at a time, Buffy springs out the side entrance of her apartment building and immediately takes a deep breath, deciding that the night smells almost the same no matter where she is. It's cool and damp, moisture hanging in the air from an early evening rain. Buffy checks her stakes, one inside her jacket pocket, one in the back of her waistband, and heads down the street, senses perked to pick up any undead activity. Finding vampires in Rome is not hard to do if you know where to look. They don't hang out in cemeteries with as much frequency as in Sunnydale. They roam the streets at night, blending with crowds. After months of practice honing her Slayer senses, she can pick a vampire out of a crowded piazza with ease.

Only she doesn't want crowds tonight. She wants to escape from whatever has been suffocating her lately and just be out in the night, alone. Find the vampire, stake the vampire. Repeat as needed. It's the only thing that gets her out of her head and out of reliving the memory of her birthday a year ago. Of a quiet night on a back porch that later crumbled into a crater like the rest of her house, like the rest of Sunnydale. Like him. She feels her throat tighten. Hand slipping into her pocket as it does a hundred times a day, she fingers the coin there, worn smooth from years of use. Most of those years of use by him. She frowns, rubbing the coin once again. By Spike. Buffy pulls her hand from her pocket and walks on, head down. The way her heart clutches when she thinks his name has been a steady companion these last five months.

The relief of survival gave way soon enough to the grief of loss. Moving out of the country distracted her for awhile and then there was her somewhat failed attempt at learning Italian, and the constant keeping an eye on Dawn. But soon enough, it came back to her. The nightmares of him burning in a hundred different ways. She didn't have to see it to know it happened. Or waking up, thinking she was in his arms, only to find her bed cold and empty. The nights on patrol when she swore she could smell his cigarette smoke, only to find a complete stranger lounging on a street corner in a cloud of it. She had tried everything. Not patrolling at all, patrolling every night. Patrolling with Dawn, patrolling with Andrew one very stupid time. And ultimately, she just preferred to stalk the streets on her own. If she could not have him strutting along by her side, ready with a snarky comment or a quick left hook, she would rather be alone with her thoughts and the things that go bump in the night.

Buffy's head snaps up, yanked out of her maudlin thoughts by a familiar tingle. Vampire. And not far. She curses herself for getting distracted, which is a nice way of getting killed. She peers down the nearly deserted street she has wandered onto, pools of street light her only illumination on a cloudy night. Two figures are ahead of her. She picks up her pace, watching a woman walk from light to light while a man slides along behind her, just outside the light. She mutters to herself. "Gee, wonder which one's the bloodsucker?" She starts to walk quicker, trying not to draw attention to herself. The vampire seems to have no idea she is behind him and Buffy calculates that she can easily catch up to him before he reaches his unsuspecting victim.

She moves closer, silent as the grave and the vampire never looks back. A slow smile spreads on her face, the taste of the hunt in her, her heart beating in time with her feet. The vampire is only fifty yards ahead when he walks past the opening to a side alley. Suddenly, he is pulled off the main street and into the alley, so quickly he doesn't make a sound. Buffy stops, startled. "Hey!" The sounds of a struggle carry to her over the still night air. The would-be victim glances back in fear at the sudden noises and then takes off down the street. Buffy hesitates for a second, then runs towards the fight. The grunts and thumps stop just before she reaches the corner and she darts right into a cloud of recently dusted vampire. Coughing and choking, she struggles to see a dark figure running down the alley, taking a corner sharply and disappearing from sight. Something about him makes her stomach jump, but she doesn't have time to analyze it. First, she needs to know who is in her town dusting vampires and she needs to know now. Buffy resumes her pursuit, taking the same corner to find an empty back alley weaving between old stone structures. Undaunted, she runs where her senses take her, heart pounding, adrenaline flaring, further down the alley into the blackness.

As she runs, Buffy feels it. The sharp sensation up the back of her neck signaling 'vampire.' What she can't figure out is why she is getting that signal from the figure she is pursuing. The one who apparently just dusted another vampire. Her prey slows, and she slows down as well. Buffy rounds another corner and knows he is here. The alley is dark, sporadic pools of light from the windows of the homes that line it. Pressing herself against the nearest wall, she closes her eyes for a second, fine-tuning her senses. She opens her eyes again, a tiny smile playing on her lips. _Gotcha_, she thinks to herself. A nagging tingle tries to tell her something. Something familiar in the way her skin is alive with sensation. She writes it off to the adrenaline of a good chase. Buffy decides to get this mysterious vampire pinned in hopes of finding out what he was up to before dusting him. Maybe some kind of vengeance thing against another vampire? She shakes her head, slinking slowly along the alley wall, not making a sound. Her skin is nearly twitching, she is so close. Around the next corner, he is waiting. Or hiding. Either way, she's got him.

Buffy reaches the corner, holding her breath. Her awareness is off the charts in its sensitivity and she feels that same sense of familiarity cover her again. Focusing her attention and ignoring the persistent alarm bells in her head, she slides around the corner. Just a few feet ahead, she sees a dark alcove. She smiles again, her body alive with the pursuit. With a few quick sure strides, she is at the alcove. She reaches in with unerring aim, yanks him out and slams his body against the wall, bringing the stake to his heart in the same movement.

"Whoa, Buffy!" His eyes widen at the speed of her movements as she holds the stake motionless over his heart. "Damn, I forgot how bloody fast you are."

Every hair on Buffy's body stands straight up at the voice washing over her. Deep, vibrating, British. She begins to shake almost immediately with the flood of recognition, the stake falling from a nerveless hand with a loud clatter on the stone pavement. The only other sound is her short breaths as she releases his shirt and backs away on unsteady legs.

"Sp - Spike?" Her voice is tremulous, higher than normal, almost childlike. The adrenaline from her hunt surges into her heart, causing her pulse to accelerate. All the color rushes out of her face as she continues to move backwards.

Seeing the panic in her eyes, Spike reaches out, his voice soft. "It's me, love." His hand shakes, the emotion of seeing her again hitting him hard and sudden. He knew she was pursuing him, but actually laying eyes on her again makes him want to grab her and never let go. Buffy's eyes dart from his hand to his face, both in partial shadow and then she looks both ways down the alley, charting her escape. He takes a chance and moves a step closer and then sees her every muscle tense for flight.

"It's really me, Buffy. Don't...don't run, okay?" He stops reaching for her and holds both hands up, palms facing her.

Buffy swallows, her mouth gone completely dry, and tries to speak. "What... where... how? What the hell is going on?"

Spike steps closer, the light from a nearby lamp making his face visible. "I came back, Buffy."

She narrows her eyes at him. "What if I don't believe you? What if you are...the First or something else bad, back for more playtime with Buffy?"

"You already touched me, pet. Solid, right?"

Buffy nods, remembering just how solid he felt. And familiar. She feels emotion surging, closing up her throat. Could he really be back? It's not like it's unheard of in her life for her undead lovers to return from certain destruction.

"But...how? When?"

"Listen, I didn't want to tell you, to see you like this, Buffy. I just was out for a little patrol, letting off some steam before I went to find you. Didn't know I snagged your kill until it was too late. I wanted to...I never meant to scare you."

Seeing that she is not going to bolt, Spike moves a little closer. He wants to touch her so badly. She relaxes under his soft gaze and his hand moves out to touch her arm lightly. He lets out a breath, an exhalation of relief when his skin meets hers. The cool familiarity of his skin, the strength in his hand draws a breath from Buffy as well. She looks up, eyes wet. "You're real."

"I am." He smirks a little and Buffy can't help but smile back.

Suddenly, she jumps. "My party! Oh my gosh, they're all waiting!"

Spike knits his brow in confusion. "They?"

"Andrew and Dawn...and Xander and Willow and Giles! They're all coming for my birthday."

Spike falls silent, not really keen on his reunion with Buffy becoming a group event. He tries to hide his trepidation from Buffy. "Well, we better shove off then, love. This way I only have to tell the story once, right?"

Buffy looks at him again, a smile spreading across her face. "You're really here, aren't you? This is...wow."

"Yeah, was thinking the same thing." Spike looks her over slowly, taking in the subtle changes in his Slayer. Her body is slightly fuller, healthy roundness in her hips and breasts. Her hair is lighter, more golden, along with her skin. In her eyes, he sees a tumult of feelings. Her body is tense, spine rigid with fear and excitement. Even as he looks, her face starts to open, emotions dancing behind her eyes. She is happy to see him. Internally, he breathes a big sigh of relief. "You look better than ever, love."

Buffy blushes pinkly, seeing the intent look in his eyes to go with his words. She takes a deep pleasure in knowing he likes what he sees. "We have to go." Her voice is quiet, almost a question. In fact, she is full to bursting with questions, but she needs to get him out of this alley. Into her home where she can just look at him, make sure he's real. Let other people see him so she knows she is not imagining this.

"It _is_ me, Buffy." She smiles weakly, nodding, remembering how unnerving it is when he seems to read her mind. "Shall we?" He holds his arm out for her and after a moment's hesitation, she slides her arm in and hooks it around his elbow. The smooth leather, the solidity of him, is suddenly welcome as her knees get shaky. Spike quickly covers her hand with his, looking down at her with a smile in his eyes. Without saying a word, he starts to walk towards her apartment.

She frowns as they take the first turn. "You know where I live?"

"Um, yeah. Like I said, I was just...blowing off steam before I came to see you."

"You were nervous!" Buffy giggles, perfectly giddy in the moment.

Spike looks down for a second, then over at her from the corner of his eye. "Yeah. Bloody terrified, if you must know."

Buffy yanks him to a halt, laughter gone. "What do you mean?"

Spike clears his throat, looks everywhere but at her. "Wasn't sure how you would react to seeing me again. I figured you had...moved on. Maybe you have...."

"You're an idiot, Spike." He turns sharply at her words, only to find merriment sparkling in her eyes. "It's just one of the things I missed about you." With that statement leaving more questions than answers in Spike's mind, Buffy tugs on his arm. "Now come on!"

* * *

Author's Note: This last story will be in several parts, at least three. Thanks for the reviews so far and hope you enjoy this part! :) Tiana


	8. Twenty Three, Part 2

A few minutes later, the blond pair stands in front of the door to Buffy's apartment. She can hear the voices inside and turns to Spike. "Sounds like Willow already 'ported in with Xander and Giles."

"'ported?"

"Teleported. I know, very Star Trek, right? It's something she can do now. Saves on airfare. Though it does make you want to toss your cookies sometimes." Her hand goes for the doorknob, but Spike reaches out, stilling her hand. Buffy glances back, struck by again how blue his eyes are and how deeply they penetrate her.

"Maybe you should warn them I'm here? I don't want to get staked in the excitement. Died once this year already."

Buffy starts to protest but then thinks of Xander and Giles and their hyper-overprotective ways. She nods. "You're probably right. Wait right here." A genuine smile on her face, Buffy pushes him to the side and opens the door.

"SURPRISE!" The voices slam into her, causing Buffy to jump.

She has to laugh. "Um, thanks, but I did know you were coming, guys." She grins as Andrew bounces up and down, clapping. Smiles all around from her friends make Buffy feel warm and welcome. "But wait, i I</i have a surprise for all of you!"

"Is it gelato!" Andrew bounces more in excitement over the frozen Italian treat.

"No, it's..."

"Cannoli?"

"No, I..."

"TIRAMISU?" Andrew's voice pitches high enough to make everyone flinch.

"Andrew, shut UP. It's not a dessert. It's...well...look." Buffy reaches outside into the hallway and yanks a sheepish Spike into the doorway. She smiles, face radiant.

He waves a little, unsure what to do. After a few beats of stunned silence, chaos breaks out. Andrew rushes forward, tackling Spike in a bear hug, crying and rambling about his 'favoritest ever undead formerly evil vampire friend' until Spike struggles to peel him off and address some of the dozen questions flying at him from Xander, Dawn, Giles and Willow. Buffy stands back a little, unable to wipe the smile off her face. Seeing everyone together again makes her heart hurt. But in a good way. Even Giles looks pleased to see Spike in one piece again.

Spike steps out of the group, hands up in surrender. "Whoa! You lot need to settle down. I'll answer the questions...if I can...but one at a time, right?"

For the next half hour, Spike tells what he knows from the beginning. Burning up from the inside as the Hellmouth crumbled around him. In the next second, at least from his view, coming to 'life' again in Angel's offices in L.A. He calms Buffy down, who gets up and stomps around at this point in the story, cursing at Angel for keeping him a secret. Explains about not being solid, feeling like he was slipping into Hell. And finally, by magical means, being made corporeal again. And through it all, his eyes continue to return to Buffy, speaking as if she is the only one in the room. Buffy's heart beats faster, harder every time their eyes meet.

"And then, I borrowed one of Angel's jets and headed this way."

Buffy raises an eyebrow. "Borrowed?"

"Right. Um, nicked it, actually. Told the pilot it was official Wolfram & Hart business and all. What? He's got more than one!" Buffy can't help but laugh at the idea of Angel realizing what Spike has done.

The room falls quiet as everyone wonders what to ask next. Finally, Xander breaks the silence. "Well, it's been over a year since anyone came back from the dead. I say this calls for a beer! "

"Sounds good, mate." Spike laughs in relief as a cold one is passed his way and everyone disperses to eat and drink.

Buffy pulls him to the side. "See, nothing to worry about. Even Xander is happy to see you. Of course, he's been stuck training new Slayers for months, so any male friend would be a relief..." Again, unable to contain her joy, Buffy laughs.

"God, it's good to hear you laugh, pet. It's been a long time." The moment tightens around them, the din of the gathering fading as they look at each other. Buffy's smile turns to a look of serious intent.

"I still have so many questions, Spike. So much to tell you."

"I know. Me too, pet."

Buffy looks around at her group of friends, realizing she can't just abandon them to talk to Spike. Or can she?

"Time for cake!" Dawn calls out as she comes out of the kitchen with a cake blazing with candles.

Buffy looks at Spike, telling him with her eyes to be patient. He nods and points her to the cake. She heads to the dining room table, as everyone begins to sing, off-key but with great enthusiasm. As the song ends, Buffy leans forward to blow out the candles.

"Make a wish, Buffy!" Andrew, still extremely excited, reminds her as he hops from foot to foot. Spike feels her eyes on him immediately, telling him in no uncertain terms she doesn't need another wish with him standing there. He feels a tremor of relief, the weight of not being sure what she wants slowly lifting from his shoulders. The look in her eyes is unwavering as she blows out the candles in one long breath. She starts to come around the table towards him, ignoring the rest of the group, until Willow grabs her arm.

"Prezzies!" Buffy's brow furrows as she is yanked towards the couch and the pile of brightly wrapped gifts on the coffee table. She is torn between glee at ripping into the presents and the thought of ripping off other more exciting wrappings. Spike lounges against the doorway, watching her go through the motions, oohing and aahing over each gift in turn. He feels the tension, the worry melt off his body as he sees Buffy be happy and relaxed. She is okay. Somehow, he had to know that first. That incinerating himself had saved not just the human race, but that it saved Buffy. He had to know she lived and survived and was going on with her life. Now, to figure out if he has a place in it.

Just when it seemed the party would never end, it starts to wind down. Willow is hugging Buffy, wishing her the best, apologizing for not staying longer. "Council business. I'm sorry. We'll be back soon for a longer visit, okay, Buffy?" Buffy nods, hugging Xander and Giles. To Spike's surprise, he gets a handshake from both the men and a quiet "Welcome back, Spike" from the Watcher. And a quick squeeze from Red, her eyes warm on him. He can feel the calm power in the witch, unlike ever before. To show him he is right, the three of them blink out of sight in a swirl of golden energy.

"Wow. You weren't kidding, pet. Red's got some serious mojo now."

Buffy looks at the spot in the living room where the air continues to spark lightly before fading and agrees. "Yeah, she's amazing. So much lighter than before. Meaning less dark?"

Spike nods. "Yeah, I know what you mean." Their eyes meet again for the thousandth time and Dawn reacts to the intimate look.

"Wow, Andrew, look at the time!"

"What? It's early, I was thinking we could all play Parchee -"

"Yes, yes. In my room, come on. We can play there."

"No, my room! I've got the mini-fridge all stocked with YooHoo and - Hey, shouldn't we invite Spi -"

"Just come on!" Dawn grabs Andrew by the arm and drags him away from the living room.

"But - and ow!" Andrew stumbles after Dawn and a minute later, a door slams down the hall.

Eyebrows raised, Spike peers down the hall. "The boy lives here, too?"

Buffy rolls her eyes. "Sort of. He kind of follows us around. Like a puppy. An overexcited, rambling puppy who eats way too much sugar." She sighs, glancing over her shoulder to the hall he disappeared down with her sister. "He wants to help. He does help, sometimes. Sometimes not so much. He stays here a lot, and sometimes in England with Giles. It's like, shared custody or something." She half-smiles at him.

"And me, love?"

"You?"

"Where can I stay?" He does not look at her.

Buffy blushes, realizing she is finally alone with Spike and all of a sudden, nervous as a schoolgirl. "He - Here? You can stay here. If you want to?"

"I do." Spike looks around, taking off his duster as he does and tossing it on the nearest chair. "Couch looks pretty comfy. Place is really quite posh, pet."

"Uh, thanks. Dawn and Andrew did most of it." Awkward silence builds between them until Buffy breaks it. "I need to talk to you." She looks towards the rooms into which Dawn and Andrew disappeared. "Not here. My room?"

Spike reminds himself not to expect anything. No matter how alluring her scent is, no matter how many times she makes eye contact. They are just getting to know each other again. Slow, very slow. He nods and follows her into her room. Buffy turns on the light on her dresser and closes the door behind him. Nervous, she perches on the end of her bed. Spike paces slightly, taking in her room. It's different, unfamiliar. Since her old room fell into the Hellmouth, it makes sense this room would feel new, full of new things. Except... his scanning eyes fall hard on a worn red book on her bedside table. His eyes jerk to hers in surprise.

"Is that...?"

Looking where he is looking, Buffy smiles a tender little smile back at him. "Yes."

He strides over to it, reaching out to trace the familiar leather cover. He turns to Buffy, confused. "But how?"

Buffy takes a deep breath before answering. "I just didn't know how the fight was going to end. Going into the Hellmouth - so unpredictable, kind of a big thing. I gathered some things from the house and mailed them to Angel for safekeeping. Just in case. He sent them to Italy when I got settled. It's all I have from Sunnydale." The whole time she is talking, he stares down at the book, fingers still touching it. Spike's hand moves over as he notices the large clear crystal also on the bedside table. He touches it, and looks at her in question. She nods. A battered enveloped juts out of the book of letters and he gently tugs it out. His eyes widen as he recognizes the Brazil postmark.

"You kept this all these years? I didn't even know if you ever got it." Spike slides the letter out and reads it over, chuckling to himself. "Most poetic death threat I ever sent."

Buffy laughs along with him. "Did you send a lot of them? And, come on. It's not every day your mortal enemy mails you a birthday card which also wishes you an early death, right?" Spike drops it to the table and looks back at Buffy. The look makes her go quickly still.

"So, these are some of the things you wanted to keep?" Spike's voice has a tremor in it he tries in vain to hide. He knew seeing Buffy would be emotional, but he never counted on this. He never counted on hope.

Buffy feels her throat tighten and her next words are very soft. "I had a dream - a nightmare. Before. In it, I lost you, I lost everything. I had to at least hold onto what I could." She reaches in her pocket and slides out the worn silver coin. "This I just never let go. It's been with me since the day you gave it to me." Spike moves closer, puts his hand out and traces the familiar coin, his good luck charm for over a hundred years. His fingers move off the coin and onto Buffy's soft warm skin, moving in widening circles around her palm.

The heat in the room increases dramatically and Buffy feels her heart rate increase. Spike speaks without lifting his head, without stopping the rhythm of his fingers. "I missed you, Buffy."

Buffy's fingers curl up, covering his, halting the motion. Reaching up with the other hand, she cups his face gently, pulling him down. He doesn't resist as she holds her breath until their lips meet. In that moment, it rushes over her in a flood. The mourning, the grief of leaving him behind, the love he so clearly still holds for her. And she pours all of it right back into the kiss, crying out a little into his mouth as their lips press harder. Spike's other hand laces into her hair, holding her to him. With a gasp, the kiss breaks and they just cling there, not moving.

"Thought you wanted to talk, pet." The tone of voice, the promise of wicked pleasure, gives Buffy the same goosebumps it always did.

"We can talk later." Buffy hesitates. "Can't we? You're not leaving?"

"Wild horses couldn't make me." His hand slides out of her hair and along her neck, his fingers tickling her skin as they coast down her bare arm.

"And this...is okay?" Spike almost laughs, she sounds so nervous. She still doesn't know that he will always want her. He doesn't know how to stop.

"More than okay. Bloody fantastic." His last words are nearly lost as he leans down to nuzzle into her neck. Buffy's head rocks back slowly, tension dripping off her like water. She lets her body arch into his, gaining contact with the solid, firm planes of his chest through his black t-shirt.

Swallowing a moan, Buffy struggles to remain coherent as his hands skate down her back, fingers tracing her spine. Her own hands curl into the front of his t-shirt, grasping it tightly, pulling it loose from his jeans. There is a certain frenzy to her actions, a desperation. When the shirt is loose, she slides her hands ever so slowly under to the skin below. As her hands re-discover the sculpted muscles of his abdomen and chest, Spike feels her body shudder a few times. Standing up straight to look at her, he sees evidence of near tears in her eyes.

"Buffy?"

She shakes her head, unable to bring the words forth just yet. She pulls her hands from his carved body to come up and catch the edge of one cheekbone, trace his jawline, drag down the front of his wrinkled shirt.

"Buffy? Pet, are you...should we...?" Spike is concerned by how quiet she has gone.

She tries to smile through wet eyes. "You're real. Spike, you...were almost on fire last time I saw you. Fire. Fire plus vampire equals no more vampire. A big beam of light was shooting through you. I knew that was it." She takes a deep breath, keeps talking as her fingers idly play with the hem of his shirt, a loose thread drawing her attention. "And I left you. Because you were the hero that day, not me. Saving everyone's butt, including mine. And I told you... I said..."

"You said you loved me." Spike tenses, the cords in his necks pronounced. He fights the urge to let her off the hook, decides he needs to hear it, one way or the other.

"And you told me I didn't."

"Right."

She jabs him in the chest with her index finger, hard. Buffy looks up and Spike sees the tears are gone, and the hazel of her eyes is filled with flashes of anger. "Where do you get off telling me what I feel?"

Startled, Spike tries to explain. "I...I knew you were just being nice, Buffy. Last wish to the dying man kind of thing?"

"Sit down." Buffy points at the end of the bed. One look at her face and the edge in her voice tells Spike to do it and not argue. He sits down as Buffy paces in front of him. She brushes her hair back from her face, gathering herself. "I need to explain something to you. Looks like we are going to talk, after all." She smiles quickly at him, face still flushed. "Only more me than you right now."

Spike nods, thinking not interrupting is a very good idea.

"I've...never been very open with my emotions. You've known me for enough years to know that. Even when I can figure out i what</i those feelings are, I'm not exactly big on the sharing." She glances at Spike, but he just continues to listen. Buffy looks away before she is drawn to him and forgets to explain the rest. For the last five months, she has wanted to smack him for what he said to her and now is her chance to explain why.

"I'll try not to get into some big psychoanalyze Buffy session, but I think when my parents were breaking up, I learned to shut down my emotions. Detach myself so it didn't hurt so much. When I became the Slayer, I kept doing it. Internalized everything so it couldn't hurt me, couldn't be used against me." Buffy pauses, takes a deep breath. "Fast forward to the time right after Mom died." Spike sees her face draw in at the mention of her mother and realizes how the loss grieves her. How it probably always will. "I had a conversation with Giles about how...hard I was getting. I was worried that being the Slayer was making me so cold, so unable to give of myself to others. Unable to show love. I was...scared my Mom didn't even know how much..." Spike starts to get up, seeing her face begin to crumple, but she waves him back down. "Let me finish. I thought maybe she didn't know I loved her so so much. Because I didn't tell her."

"She knew, love. She knew."

"I think I believe that now. At the same time, I resolved to break out of that shell. Try harder to show those around me how I felt. Mixed results, really. But I was trying. Still, a really limited audience for the Buffy love." Buffy paces more and more intently, eyes focused on the floor. "When I died, I was...ready, in a way. I was so tired. Too much loss, too much pain." She pauses, looks up at Spike. "And then I came back. I wasn't hard then...I was hollow. I let your love fill all the empty places but I couldn't give any back. I was so...empty." She lets her last word fall and the room goes quiet for a few tense seconds.

"Slowly I came back into myself. Remembered I didn't want to be hard. I wanted to love, be loved. Once you had your soul, I had to understand you all over again. Understand how you could love me enough to do that. To change your very core, your essence. I...god, Spike, I...damn it. See, it's hard for me to even explain. I've gone on this extended ramble and maybe you still have no idea what I'm getting at." Buffy rubs her eyes, struggling. She hears the bed creak and in the next second, feels his hands rub the outside of her arms. Taking a deep breath, she looks up at him standing in front of her.

"It took me all last year to realize it, to understand it, to really let myself feel it, Spike. So, let me get to the point of this long-winded explanation. Listen closely. You're listening?" He nods. "Good."

Her eyes are unwavering, locked into his. "The next time I tell you I love you, you better damn well believe me!" She narrows her eyes at a surprised Spike. "Got it?"

He gapes for a minute like a fish before stammering out an answer. "Got it."

"We're clear?"

"Crystal."

She reaches up and grabs his chin in her hand, holding him firmly, forcing eye contact. Her voice drops, grows softer.

"Spike, I love you."

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! One more part on this last chapter. Thanks for the lovely feedback so far! And if you are following any of my other fics, they WILL be updated pretty soon, so hang in there:) Tiana


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